Christmas Gifts
by AGriffinWriter
Summary: Buffy's mother invites a certain bleach blond vampire over for Christmas dinner, unaware of the smoochies already transpiring between the Big Bad and the Slayer. What could possibly go wrong? A one-shot in an AU Spuffy Season 5. Adapted as a stand-alone from the Christmas scene in 'Five Words or Less' (Chapter 17).


_A/N: Adapted from the Christmas scene in Chapter 17 of 'Five Words or Less'. I've tried to make this a stand-alone, given a slightly-AU Season 5 where Spike and Buffy are already secretly together and most of the gang is a bit more accepting of Spike. Quotes are borrowed from 'I Was Made To Love You', 'The Body', and 'Spiral'. Joss Whedon owns all the things. Special thanks to EllieRose101 for encouraging me to write the gift-exchange scene and helping me with various gift ideas._

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><p><strong>Christmas Gifts<strong>  
>by AGriffinWriter<p>

"Now, uh... forks on the left, right?... I mean, left, correct?" asked Buffy, holding clumps of silverware in both hands.

"Yes, forks on left, glasses and knives and spoons on the right," Joyce smiled, handing napkins to Dawn, who was arranging nine plates around the table. Tara walked in from the kitchen with the butter dish, while Willow lit two candles as table centerpieces and a few others around the already tinsel-and-lights garnished room. When the doorbell rang, all four girls scrambled to answer it, but Dawn was the one who managed to wrench it open.

"Hey… Xander and Anya," she said with significantly less enthusiasm than her face had showed only a second ago. While the two new arrivals removed their coats and added their contributions to the pile of presents in the living room, Dawn turned petulantly back to Buffy.

"He is coming, right? You made sure?"

"He'll be here," nodded Buffy before heading back into the kitchen for salad tongs. Tara was already at the sink, cleaning a few of the pots so that the after-dinner cleanup would be less overwhelming.

"Nine places at the table," she observed in a pleasantly casual tone. "Should I guess who else we're expecting?"

"Spike," Buffy confessed as she hunted in the cutlery drawer. "I, um... wasn't sure what Giles would say if I told the whole gang, you know?"

"So... you two..." Tara trailed off suggestively, smiling.

"Well, _Mom_ invited him," she answered evasively. Finally unearthing the salad tongs, Buffy had only managed to take one step back toward the dining room when she and Tara heard a tiny rap on the back door. Tongs forgotten, Buffy hurried over and opened it.

"You made it!"

"Gave my word, didn't I?" Spike grinned. Underneath his trusty leather duster was a black dress-shirt only half buttoned up, leaving plenty of muscular ivory torso exposed. His hair was gelled into slightly-spiked curls that just begged to be touched, and around his neck, wrist, and a few fingers were coordinated silver jewelry, simple chains and rings.

He stepped through the back door and set two boxes wrapped in red paper – one large and oddly shaped, and the other a thin square packet – on the nearest countertop before weaving his arms around Buffy's waist. "Didn't miss Rupes carvin' up the pork tenderloin, did I?"

"Spike..."

At Buffy's cautionary tone, Spike looked around and spotted Tara. His arms immediately loosened but didn't leave Buffy completely.

"Uh... evenin', Glinda."

"Hi, Spike. Glad you could join us. I'll, um..." she set the pot she'd been scrubbing back in the sink, "I'll just see if Joyce n-needs any help in the dining room."

"Oh, the salad tongs..."

"I'll take them," smiled the blonde witch, picking up the utensils Buffy had abandoned on the island. The moment she left the room, Spike wound his arms tight around Buffy again, nose gently nuzzling her cheek.

"Pro'ly the only moment alone we'll have all night, eh, Slayer? Only chance for snoggin'..."

"We can't. Dawn might see... well, _she_ wouldn't mind... but _Anya_ could walk in and then she'd be asking questions and making sex-comments all night, or _Giles_," she whispered, terrified by the thought. "He'd probably stake you with a burning pitchfork or something."

Grumbling and chuckling simultaneously, Spike quickly ran his lips across her temple once before reluctantly separating himself from her, shrugging out of his coat, and draping it over his arm.

"You look stunning, Buffy," he murmured. He twirled one of her blonde tresses with his thumb, trailed two fingers down her arm then back up, and gently tugged the fabric bow at her left shoulder.

"Thought you might like it," she smiled. She had purposefully chosen the cherry-red sleeveless blouse because it was his favorite color. "You clean up okay yourself... except what's with all the pawn shop jewelry?"

Eyes widening slightly, he swallowed hard. "Dunno. Thought it was a human thing to do, dress up in gaudies for a special, holiday-type occasion. If you don't like 'em..."

"No, I _do_, just didn't expect... it's quite a different look on you. Elegant yet edgy. Almost like the old human you is peeking in through the sharp Spike edges."

Spike smirked. "They're one and the same, pet. Two halves of the same coin, just like you, gorgeous."

"If you sweet-talk me anymore, my mother is going to walk in on us making out and will probably drop something really important, like the pork," she warned teasingly as his fingers wandered back to her bare arm, softly skimming her skin.

Exhaling for a courage boost, he glanced at the door to the living room. "Avengers all assembled in there, I s'pose?"

"Uh-huh. I guess you could put... two presents?" she asked, suddenly noticing the red gifts.

"Mmhmm," he grinned, knowing where her thought process was headed.

"_Only_ two presents?"

"That's Mum's and Niblet's. Had yours custom-made and didn't have time to wrap it."

Buffy's brows narrowed into a dangerous look. "You didn't get me something naughty, did you?"

He snorted a laugh and patted his back pocket. "No, mostly 'cuz you haven't told me your measurements yet. Though I _bet_ I could suss 'em out..."

"Spike!" she yipped warningly as one of his hands skated between her waist and her hip. He obeyed, retracting his arm just as Dawn walked in.

"You're here!" She rushed around the island and barreled into him, hugging him tightly. "What'd you get me? Can I open it now?"

"Steady on, Lil' Bit. Wouldn't want to muss Mum's schedule. Sure she's got it all timed out so everythin' is hot and tasty right when she wants it. Lemme put the gifts in the other room and then you can show me where I'm s'posed to sit, a'right?"

"Great!"

Seizing his hand, Dawn pointed quickly at a sprig of greenery hanging from the ceiling before she pulled him toward the living room, already occupied by Xander, Anya, Willow, and Giles. Their banter turned into a screeching silence as he entered.

"Er, hallo all. What's goin' on, then?"

Xander glanced skeptically between his girlfriend and Giles, whose face was stony, while Anya and Willow looked surprised to see Spike but accepting of his company. Spike noticed Giles's glare – fierce enough to cause a lesser man or vampire to quail – and just smiled nervously.

"Wotcha, Watcher. Happy Christmas."

"Spike, you're not welcome here."

"Yeah, he is," Dawn huffed, crossing her arms and giving her sister's mentor a notorious teenage scowl. "We _invited_ him."

"But what's he gonna do at dinner?" asked Xander skeptically. "Leer at all of us while pretending to look at the food?"

"I eat human food all the time! A'course I'm not gonna stand up Joyce's cookin'," Spike protested. "An' I don't _leer_ at you lot anymore. An' I've never leered at _you_ in a hungry way at all."

Giles removed his glasses and folded them, stepping between the vampire and Dawn. "Spike... listen to me..."

"Giles, it's just... I'm tryin' to explain here... Joyce asked–"

He never had the chance to finish his sentence as Giles shoved him back against a glass-fronted armoire, the contents within rattling at the force of impact. The Watcher's face was flinty, remembering another special occasion from years ago... roses and music, a white face on a pillow, her neck abnormally bent. _Allow a vampire inside the inner sanctum, treat him like a friend, like family... and this is the result,_ his memory warned him.

"Clear out of here, Spike," Giles demanded. All the others in the room stood totally transfixed by the venom in the Watcher's voice. Even Dawn was stunned speechless, glancing frightfully from Spike to Giles.

"Rupert," Spike tried again, his voice as calm as he could keep it, "Joyce invited–"

"This is a family gathering," Giles interrupted harshly, stepping in close, his eyes riveted on Spike's. "You are not family."

"Technically, neither are you," mumbled Anya. "Or most of us."

Giles ignored her.

"This is not your way to Buffy," he snarled into Spike's face. "There _is_ no way to Buffy. Spike, this thing... get over it."

Spike smiled softly. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. Move the hell on."

"But Giles..." Dawn said in a tremulous little voice, "Mom and I asked him to come for Christmas dinner."

"We'll inform Joyce that he couldn't attend," Giles replied stiffly, stepping aside only enough to give Spike a straight path to the front door.

"The lady of the house invited me," he protested, bristling under the Watcher's vicious stare. "Not showin' her up. Wouldn't be right."

"Get out."

"I don't follow your orders, Ripper," Spike glowered.

His patience snapping, Giles seized Spike by the shirt collar and hauled him to the front door, shoving him outside onto the front porch. Everyone in the living room was frozen except Xander, who awkwardly fiddled with an ornament on the tree. Giles remained in the doorway, blocking it like a bouncer demanding to see the IDs of underage bar-goers.

Fuming, Spike stuffed his arms back into his duster sleeves. "Enjoy your present, Platlet," he shouted, hoping his voice would carry over Giles's shoulder into the room beyond. Turning, he headed down the driveway, shuffling his feet angrily.

"Spike!"

He instantly whipped back around at the sound of his Slayer's voice. Buffy appeared behind Giles, Joyce by her side, both women wearing oven-mitts and shocked expressions.

"Rupert, whatever is the matter?" inquired Mrs. Summers. "Now I know you might have thought William was crashing our little party, but it's quite alright. I invited him."

"I... is his presence really appropriate for an event like this?" Giles murmured to Buffy's mom, clearly attempting to sway her to his side.

"Of course," Joyce replied cheerily. "He's our dear friend, and he's been so accommodating. Didn't Dawn tell you all that Spike hosted the two of us after that horrible Glory woman came to our home?"

Giles bridled, clearly remembering how adamant and complementary Dawn had been of the vampire's company, how he had provided her with snack foods and shared tales of his global escapades... hardly appropriate material for an impressionable young girl.

"Joyce, I really don't think..."

"Come on in out of the cold, William," Mrs. Summers called out to Spike, not even waiting for Giles to finish.

Cautiously, Spike returned to the porch and stood waiting for Giles to unblock the doorway. He chewed on his lip, stifling the urge to let loose some provoking comment, '_You heard the lady_,' foremost among them.

Looking as though every cell in his being was shouting protests, Giles stepped aside. "Buffy, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Buffy cringed. "Um... dinner's almost ready. Maybe–"

"This will be brief."

With a lingering glance at Spike, Buffy followed Giles into the kitchen, dropped her oven-mitts on a clear space of countertop, and faced her Watcher.

"What's up, Giles?"

"This is outrageous," he said, harsh and indignant. "Your mother and sister may have been charmed by his behavior, but I expected better of you, Buffy. Regardless of the chip's impediment to any actual violence, he is a barbaric creature without a soul. Need I remind you that the woman I loved was murdered by a monster like him? That I was tortured by the likes of him? And you expect me to just sit politely and eat pork and sweet potatoes at a holiday gathering with the loathsome creature?"

"You seemed to swallow your turkey just fine last Thanksgiving," she huffed. "Spike was there then, too."

"That was quite different. He was our prisoner. He was bound to a chair, not prancing about as though he's the honored guest."

"Spike isn't prancing, and he isn't Angelus, Giles. Funnily enough, while Angelus was torturing you, _Spike_ was helping me rescue you and save the world."

"He's a soulless _thing_."

_Yeah, but he's __MY soulless thing_.

"Look, it's not a discussion," she decreed as the oven timer rang. " It's not your place to invite or disinvite people from our house. If I want to sit in Spike's lap while I open my presents, that's up to _me_, not you. He stays. Get over it."

For a few seconds, Giles impersonated an asphyxiated fish, blubbering in astonishment. Thankfully, Joyce and Tara entered the kitchen just then to pull the pork tenderloin out of the oven, and Buffy picked up the basket of warm rolls.

"I want us to have a perfect Christmas dinner," she said softly, turning back towards him as the two other women left for the dining room. "And before I find something wooden to knock on and un-jinx myself, I just want to remind you how messed up my life has been these last few months. Mom's tumor... Glory... Riley... this is the first pause I've had in what feels like an awful long time. Please don't spoil this, Giles. Please don't churn up some vendetta against Spike because of what Angelus did to Jenny."

Thoroughly reprimanded, Giles just nodded, accompanied Buffy into the packed dining room, and sat at the end opposite Joyce, stiffly ignoring Spike three seats away, ensconced between Dawn and Tara.

"Joyce, this looks magnificent," he smiled appreciatively at the Christmas feast spread over the Summers' dining table.

"Hopefully it tastes good too," smiled Buffy's mother. "Shall we say grace?"

* * *

><p>"And it's a shame Willow and I conjured that troll right before the Watchers shut us down temporarily," Anya sighed over her empty plate, finally finishing a lengthy story. "We were closed for a whole week. It severely hampered the revenue intake of the shop, with people buying up eclectic Christmas gifts for their distant relatives. Imagine the money I could have made…"<p>

"Yes, well, I think we're just about ready for pie," Joyce smiled. She, Buffy, and Spike stood and began gathering the dirty plates and serving dishes into manageable piles.

"Then I'll be pretty much ready for barf," groaned Xander.

"Xander!"

"No, no," the boy clarified off Buffy's shocked face and Spike's accusatory scowl. "Barf from all the eating. 'Cause all was good, and too much goodness..."

"I'm taking it as a complement," Mrs. Summers beamed at her surrogate son.

"Yes, uh, everything was delicious," added Giles, also rising.

"Yes," Anya announced brightly. "I'm going to barf too!"

"Everyone's so sweet," Joyce muttered sarcastically, the joke sour on its second go-round. "Maybe that's a sign we should open presents _before_ pie."

"My nog tastes funny," said Dawn, squinting into her glass. "I think I got one with rum in it."

"That's bad," Willow looked around Tara and assessed the color of Dawn's cup.

"Yeah, now ol' Saint Nic' will pass you right by, naughty boozin' Niblet," Spike smirked, taking her empty plate and those of the two witches. He followed Buffy into the kitchen in time to see Joyce pull a smoking pie out of the oven.

"Oh! I hate this oven! It's burnt," Mrs. Summers said morosely, setting the aluminum pie plate on the island.

"Oh, no, it's just... blackened," Buffy consoled her. "You know, it's Cajun pie."

Giles retrieved a bottle cork from a drawer and showed Joyce the suggested after-dinner wine.

"Shall I open another?" he asked, deliberately turning a blind eye on how close Spike was standing to Buffy and her mother.

"Oh, do you think we dare?" Joyce replied with a cheery smile.

"As long as you two stay away from the band candy, I'm cool with anything," said Buffy, examining the pie.

_Ahem_-ing awkwardly, Giles carried the wine into the dining room, and Joyce pinched her daughter's arm.

"You are a demon child."

"I live to torment you. Is that so wrong?"

"A daughter's duty, I suppose," Mrs. Summers smiled, pulling Buffy's forehead down for a kiss as Spike looked on longingly. With a quick glance at the vampire beside her, Buffy gestured at the pie.

"Look, all we have to do is just cut off a little bit of the burnt–"

She overestimated the crust's hardness, pressing down with the knife just a hair too much, and the pie flipped off the counter. Lightning fast, Spike dove for it, his hand scooping around the hot aluminum and lifting it safely back to the counter, his fingers blistering in the process.

"Ow! Dammit!" he growled, wincing. "Sorry, Joyce."

"Oh, gracious, don't apologize! You saved dessert," she reassured him. Oven-mitts in hand, she picked up the pie and scooted it out of harm's way on the kitchen island. "We probably should wait for dessert until we've had some time to digest. Presents?"

"Presents," nodded Buffy.

The moment her mom returned to the dining room to summon everyone else around the tree, Buffy whipped around, gripped Spike's wrists, and pulled him to the sink, flipping the water to cold.

"You burned yourself over _pie_! Priorities next time, okay?"

"Doesn't hurt much, just a bit shiny is all. Pro'ly not even second-degree."

He submitted to her doctoring without further complaint, then turned off the water and encircled Buffy's shoulders with his arms, gingerly keeping his hands clear. "Have I mentioned... that this... is my favorite room... of your house?" he murmured into her hair.

"'Cuz it's where the food is, right? The way to a man's heart?"

"You wound me, pet," he moaned teasingly.

"I did try to slay you with a wooden spoon in here, once," she reminded him, smirking.

"Ha! Forgot about that, though I was rather drunk at the time."

"I'm sorry about Giles. Holidays hit him hard sometimes."

"It's alright, pet. Love can cloud a man's perspective."

"Come on!" Dawn suddenly hollered at them. "Presents, presents, presents!"

Reluctantly pulling apart, Buffy and Spike joined the rest of the entourage in the living room, which already seemed significantly smaller with the huge, brightly lit Christmas tree taking up half the area between the couch and the fireplace. Xander, Anya, and Joyce shared the couch, Giles occupied the desk chair, Willow and Tara perched on the piano bench, and Dawn sat cross-legged in front of the tree to unearth and distribute all the presents. That left only the sofa chair for a certain Slayer and her secret boyfriend…

"Buffy…"

She heard Giles's voice with its slight edge of warning, but it only made her more determined. Confidently, Buffy nudged Spike onto the seat, plunked down onto his lap, and drew his arms cozily around her waist.

"Okay," she said, a little too chirpily, "who's first?"

In the silence that followed, they could practically hear the candlestick flames flickering on the desk and side tables, but Buffy continued to smile back at everyone, unperturbed. The only faces that didn't look astonished or even downright disturbed were Tara and Dawn, both of whom beamed back at Buffy as though trying to compensate for the looks on Giles's and Xander's faces, and Anya, who appeared perfectly neutral to the whole matter.

"Um… I actually might barf now," mumbled the carpenter.

To distract him, his girlfriend promptly seized a small present from out of Dawn's hand and shoved it under his nose.

"Here, honey." Then, before he had a chance to unwrap it, she announced, "It's a deck of Karma Sutra cards, so we can pick out a couple different positions every night and try them out. There are even some games listed–"

"Anya, th-this is entirely inappropriate to discuss in front of Dawn," stammered Giles.

"Or, y'know, other humans," Willow cringed.

Poor Xander sat there with the card deck in his hands, his face beet red.

Anya just snorted. "Why? I'm sure Spike got Buffy a Santa teddy or something."

"Why would a stuffed bear dressed like Santa be so ba– oh… you don't mean a teddy bear," Dawn realized midway through her innocent question.

"For your information, Anyanka," Spike nearly growled, "I got the Slayer a perfectly decent Christmas present."

"Yeah?" Xander managed to find his voice, but it came out rather squeaky. "Prove it, Peroxide."

"Yes!" said Buffy excitedly, squirming and positively bouncing on Spike's lap. "Present. Gimme!"

"A'right, a'right, keep your hair on."

From his back pocket he drew out a simple silver bracelet with a flattened-out oval on one side. Unhooking the clasp, he slipped it around her slender wrist and adjusted it to the right diameter so it was a practical level of tightness, not loose and jangly. Buffy rotated it so she could see the engraving on the flat portion, her name etched in flowing cursive, _Buffy Anne_.

"Merry Christmas, Buffy. It was my mother's," said Spike softly, so that those gathering around to look could barely hear him. "I had the jeweler add your name, copyin' the style as best he could. Script matches pretty well, I s'pose."

"Your mom's name was Anne?" asked Buffy, glancing up into his eyes. "Wow."

"You like it?"

She flicked his nose with a fingertip, then leaned close – as though there was no one else in the room, no one but him – and whispered against his lips, "I love it."

"I love _you_, Buffy."

She cupped his chin in her hand and kissed him deeply, ignoring the second round of uncomfortable silence settling over the living room.

"…Willow?"

"It wasn't me, Xand," the redhead protested. "They're making with the smoochies all by themselves."

"Gotcha!"

The vampire and Slayer were startled by a flash of light and broke their kiss to discover Dawn holding a freshly unwrapped pocket camera.

"I got the mistletoe in the frame and everything!" she giggled at them, pointing above their heads to the bundle of leaflets and red and white berries hanging just on this side of the doorway into the kitchen.

Buffy blushed, realizing she had just stuck her tongue down Spike's throat in front of her mother… and her tweedy Watcher.

"You know in my day you had to sit for hours to have a photo made," Spike shrugged, somewhat relieving the tension.

"Dawn, sweetie, how about you share some of that pile instead of opening all of yours first?" Joyce suggested, reaching forward to pass packages back to the witches and to Giles.

"I think _you_ should open one, Mom," her elder daughter pointed out, nestling comfortably in Spike's lap while he stroked her hair.

"Well… alright."

Taking a box from Dawn and smiling at Giles when she saw the handwriting on the label, Joyce untied the plaid ribbon and peeled back the wrapping to reveal a collection of fine teas, no doubt imported straight from Merry Olde.

"Thank you, Rupert. It's very posh."

"And this one's for Willow," announced Dawn, passing a small packet back toward the witches.

While Tara watched and smiled, Willow unwrapped a simple amber pendant on a long leather band, the gem's color reflecting the same shades as the redhead's tanned skin.

"I-it matches your aura, too," said Tara softly.

"I love it, sweetie." Willow pressed a kiss to her girlfriend's warm cheek, then rested her head on her shoulder while they watched other presents being opened.

"How come _they_ didn't get the PDA lecture?" Spike snickered into Buffy's ear, but she just shushed him good-naturedly, watching Anya squeal in delight at her present from Giles – fifty bucks, cold hard cash.

As the evening progressed, both Willow and Tara unwrapped candles from Anya featuring such odd scents as nutmeg-spiced waffles and tomato basil.

"I'm sure you can use them in _some_ kind of spell." The ex-demon spun to face her boyfriend. "What did you get me, Xander?"

"_Syphilis_," Spike coughed under his breath, and Buffy promptly dug her elbow into his ribs, but only slightly.

Next, Joyce fawned over the set of flower-patterned hair scarves given by her daughters, and oohed over Spike's gift, a thick, expensive-looking book containing glossy photographs of the most famous art pieces of the twentieth century.

"You spent a _lot_ of money on my mom," Buffy smiled, hugging him just a little tighter. "Major boyfriend points."

"I'm sure you can find all manner of ways to thank me in private, luv," he purred against her cheek.

Giles made a mild choking noise from across the room, but that might have been due to the Victoria's Secret bag being passed between Xander and Anya, which apparently contained about as much fabric as Willow's necklace.

"Open ours!" Dawn demanded of Spike, when the only two remaining packages were the large, lumpy bundle for Dawn and a small, neatly wrapped present that the teen promptly shoved into the vamp's hands.

"Okay, Platlet, I'm workin' on it," he chuckled, tearing back the colored paper.

"It's from all three of us," explained Buffy.

The present turned out to be the complete collection of Shakespeare's poetry.

"Many thanks, Mum," he smiled over Buffy's shoulder to her mother, then kissed Buffy's neck before turning to Dawn with a huge grin on his face. "Hmm… there should be somethin' left that says 'Niblet' on it…"

Almost trembling with anticipation, Dawn shredded the wrapping paper and gave a loud squeal of excitement. In the midst of the red paper was a small wicker basket… and sitting in the basket was a striped tabby kitten with bright blue eyes. He blinked in the light and then started mewling indignantly, as though to demand his share of the Christmas feast.

A collective "Aww!" went up from around everyone in the room, even Giles.

"You got her a kitten?" Buffy blinked, once she'd gotten over the cuteness factor.

"Won him in a poker game," Spike grinned.

"He's adorable!" Dawn cried, snatching up her kitten and running over to hug Spike and Buffy together. The miniature cat batted playfully with Spike's gelled hair.

"Gotta think of a name for him, Niblet."

"I think… Tom! Like Tom and Jerry."

Tom mewled, apparently accepting his christening.

"Not in trouble, am I, Mum?" Spike asked, cautiously looking over Dawn's shoulder.

"Oh, of course not. So, who wants chocolate pie?" asked Joyce, standing up on one of the few spots on the floor that wasn't festooned with wrapping paper. "I'm sure we can cover up the burnt taste with some whipped cream, and there's plenty of eggnog left."

Hoisting little Tom onto her shoulder like he was a parrot, Dawn headed the near stampede of hungry party goers, leaving the vampire and Buffy alone together. Standing, Spike led her toward the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, out of sight of the many peeping eyes around the dining table, back underneath the mistletoe.

"Merry Christmas, Buffy."

"Merry Christmas, Spike."

Beaming, she raised her head – only the slightest tilt necessary to give him access – and molded her lips to his. Moaning softly at the long-awaited caress, Spike held her tightly to his body as her hands found his hair and the cool, silky skin of his chest.

Neither of them noticed Tara enter the kitchen on a quest for more dessert forks. Barely pausing at the sight of the enraptured pair, she sifted through a drawer for the necessary silverware, but paused on her way back into the festive post-dinner atmosphere.

"_Nebulae_," she whispered, and the air around Buffy and Spike's entwined forms started to blur, as though shielded by a soft mist. Smiling, Tara slipped back into the dining room, and under the charm's concealment, two powerful warriors – enemies by destiny, allies by convenience, partners by design – lost themselves for a few precious moments in each others' embrace.

_~The End~_


End file.
